Changes
by ElspethElf
Summary: Rosethorn had always hated life at Lightsbridge. Three years of books and dead chemicals - and Crane, who grew too arrogant for his own good.


This is my wild, desperate attempt at posting something before school life takes over.

A short look into Rosethorn's (Niva's) life at Lightsbridge - and a very slight hint of R/C. Standalone.

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**Changes**

A bottle of red dye spilled over the parchment, the rush of scarlet liquid flowing to mingle with the black ink that still glistened. Words, names and numbers carefully noted down by deft hands began to dissolve and tiny, thin tendrils of ink rose from each letter until the paper was a swirl of red and black.

The woman swore, quickly exchanging the quill in her hand for a handkerchief. Dabbing away at the blotted parchment, she gave up and crumpled the paper with hands that shook. Unsteadily she rose out of her chair, groaning as her muscles fought to flex.

Once again she had been working through the night in the small workroom, striving to complete the full record of her work of the past three years at Lightsbridge University. Three years of confinement behind closed walls, and thick books that reeked of death had hollowed out her spirits to the point where she could not bear to look at another plant suspended in jars for dissection. With only a week left till she became a Dedicate, Niva was not sorry to leave.

She made for the door, turning back to look at her room as she did so. Jars upon jars of dried herbs, spices and seeds sat in shelves, all neatly labelled and categorized. Here was a jar of willowbark, useful in colds and soothed the throat. Over by the left were small bottles of grounded ginger, used as supplements in concocting other, more complicated brews.

When the scholars first brought the batch of dried plants to her, Niva wanted to screech. And she did, enough to make them – and others to come – wary of her sharp tongue. The plants were so _lifeless_, so starved of nourishment that it hurt her to look. She could not understand other people's indifference to the state of the herbs, so long as they did the job that was required. It took nearly two weeks for Niva to cut them into strips, to mash and ground them when necessary. It took a further week for her to bottle them, filling them with her soothing understandings.

Quietly she left her study and wandered through the back door that led towards a garden. Within the solid, university ground, here was the only place where greeneries grew and thrived with life. But even then there were signs of tampered growth by the university students. Plants, where normally found standing alone were forced to grow in clusters to ensure maximum yield within minimum space. Where trees flowered at a certain time of the year, they were encouraged to reproduce much faster by means of special chemicals sprayed onto them.

'At least I can grow my _own_ garden in the ways that _I _want once I leave,' Niva told herself. She settled down beside a cluster of rosebushes and closed her eyes. All at once, a rush of warmth flowed from the roses into her body. Eyes shut she saw sparkling, green lights fill her veins, reaching to welcome her. She greeted them as they poured their energy into her body, comforting her and nursing her tired muscles.

'Thank you,' she whispered, stroking a vine that curled itself around her wrist. 'I'm feeling better now.'

There was a sharp yank, and then a sudden, painful lurch. Niva cried out as pain tore through her body. She staggered to her feet.

'Niva? I'm sorry – I didn't see you down there. Are you hurt?'

Isas: the man, the friend, the rival, stood staring at her with a look of concern. In his hands rested a large shovel. A clump of upturned earth and roots scattered by his feet.

Niva stared, and turned to him in anger.

'What are you _doing_?' she demanded furiously, nodding towards the rosebush.

The earlier look of concern vanished from his face and was replaced by a cold, dignified contempt.

'I am taking part of this bush into the warm house to sustain its continual growth through the winter. In case you haven't noticed, the flowers are dying.'

'They're not dying,' Niva snapped. 'You of all people should know that. And this foul trick you are playing on it, making it grown out of season, its wrong and unnatural.'

Isas stiffened. The warm house had been his idea, and was met with enthusiasm and praises from the other scholars. He did not take well to having his work challenged, especially by one whose talent rivalled his, head to head.

'The warm house is an advancement that could change medicinal practices in the Emelan. With the right temperature, I can make plants grow and harvest even in the coldest winters. Seasonal medicines could be made available to healers at demand, whatever time of the year.'

'You know very well that plants wither for a reason. They need their rest just like we do, and if you trick them into over-flowering like that, what they produce will be as useless as an empty seed. If you deliberately ignore that, Isas, you're as foolish as you look.'

The man flinched, as if struck by a whip. Niva guessed his sudden discomfort correctly.

'What's the matter?' she asked. 'Don't liked to be called by your old name, is that it? I hear its Dedicate _Crane_ now. So good at what he does and so full of promise.'

'And they are not wrong, are they?' Isas reached out and snapped a branch from the rosebush. He smiled grimly when he saw Niva wince. 'At least I have the sense and logic to put my talent to proper use. At least I don't let silly sentimentalities over plants rule my head and stop me from achieving great things. And I _am_ capable of great things.'

'I see they have made an arrogant pig out of you. Have they begged you for a portrait yet?'

Isas tensed, his eyes narrowing in anger at the woman before him. 'You just can't stand it, can you?' he accused. 'You just can't accept the fact that I am better than you. That there is another person here beside yourself who can do the things you can.'

Niva snorted. 'The only person competing is you…'

'When we made the scents years ago we – '

' – Were too young and different.' Niva sighed, suddenly very tired. '_You_ were different. Now you're so sure of yourself. You only think of what _you_ want, forgetting that nature has is own laws that must be followed.'

'With the right command, nature can be bent to my will.'

Niva laughed scornfully. 'So a fool would think.'

Isas drew himself up, looking like the picture of an arrogant noble. He fumbled with the branch in his hand, his thumb pressed hard against the thorny vine until it drew blood.

'You have grown so prickly, Niva' he said quietly. 'So sharp, like a thorn.' He threw the branch onto the ground and looked at her. 'Like a rose thorn.'

In silence, he turned his back and began hacking away at the earth, pulling roots out with ferocity. Niva watched him as he worked, back bent and eyes burning with…with what? She could only imagine.

Without a word, she left. Universities always had such a way with people. They watered weeds and choked flowers. Whatever the person he used to be, he wasn't anymore.


End file.
